


why the sea is salt

by astrolesbian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, also very eventual cop!Jo, basically Anna wants to be part of youuur wooorld, feat. Cas as the fussy wary-of-humans brother merman, mermaid!Anna, surfer!Jo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1917015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astrolesbian/pseuds/astrolesbian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>anna has always lived comfortably in the shoals and the gently lit underground caves, racing and playing treasure hunter with her brother castiel, and sneaking to the surface to watch as the humans sail on their enormous, beautiful boats. more than anything, anna wants to belong to the earth the way they do. castiel thinks she is only being childish, that her love for the humans will soon fade. anna is starting to think that maybe it might.</p><p>that all changes when she meets jo, a blonde surfer who's been in and out of the water since she was three, who tells her stories about Above. the more of these stories she hears, the more she aches to be a part of them. </p><p>and the more she sees of jo, well . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	why the sea is salt

**Author's Note:**

> this took a literal forever for me to write. i'm so used to writing in a single person's headspace that mixing it up to have both anna and jo's povs was tricky for me. but i really, really liked the way it turned out. 
> 
> based of [this prompt](http://annaharvelle.co.vu/post/83986108130/joannael-surfer-jo-mermaid-anna-au-for-as) on tumblr from the lovely lauren, who also beta'd this for me. ily lauren, thanks you so much for letting me play with this!

The first time Anabiel saw a human, she was young, and reckless. She had convinced her favorite brother, Castiel, to swim with her to the surface. Castiel was curious about humans, too, but his curiosity was something rather scientific. He wanted to learn about them, to understand.

Anabiel just _wanted,_ a rolling ache deep in her stomach at the thought of sea and sky and _legs._

Castiel didn’t understand. Really, no one did, except perhaps Gabriel. He’d often spoken of the world above with an air of appreciation, but Anna thought that maybe inside he longed as deeply as she did. It was too bad Gabriel had vanished with Kali, who had been a witch.

She had been from Above. Anabiel shivered with the implications of an Above witch taking Gabriel away. Maybe she had changed him.

Maybe she had made him human, Anabiel thought, glancing sadly at her tail, which was thought to be very lovely, dark red as her hair. She hated it sometimes. She wished—

“Look,” Castiel breathed from next to her, ducking behind a rock. Anabiel followed, confused.

“Brother, what’s wrong?”

“Shh,” he hissed, “It’s a human. Be still.”

Anabiel stretched upwards anyway, and saw a girl with dark hair and eyes and small wrists on a boat with a few men. The mermaid wondered softly to her brother if it was a princess, because they all seemed to be doing what she said.

“I don’t think there are princesses anymore,” Castiel whispered, as fascinated as she is, his small frown furrowing his eyebrows. They were both small, this day, smaller than the girl—maybe woman—on the boat. She was dark and glorious and Anabiel wanted to be closer to her, to all the humans on the odd boat.

The woman laughed, her head tossed back, and one of the men laughed with her and swept her into a kiss.

Anabiel touched her lips, and wondered what it would be like to have them kissed. Castiel glanced at her, looking puzzled.

“You are very much like them sometimes.”

“Thank you,” Anabiel said.

Castiel’s frown grew more pronounced.

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“You think I’m strange,” Anabiel guessed, and Castiel nodded without a shred of hesitation.

She had always appreciated his honesty, and didn’t answer him with what she had suspected—that she _was_ strange; desperately, wonderfully. That she was perhaps created by the Father only to swim to the surface and dream of dancing on a boat.

The woman laughed, again, sweet and dark, and someone on the boat played music, and the passengers began to dance.

She and Castiel were both children. It never struck them how dangerous it was, to be so close to the boat that day, so close to the dark laughing girl and the man that kissed her and called her Ruby—Anabiel thought it must have been a sort of pet name, because it was the name of a jewel.

Michael punished them when they came home. They were not allowed to go to the surface anymore.

But by now, the desperate want inside Anabiel had only grown stronger.

 

The second time Anabiel saw a human, it was a girl, younger and lighter than the last, and the girl was alone. Anna was older now, full-grown, and Castiel had followed her to the surface because he always did, his curiosity getting the better of his fear of Michael.

She was lovelier than the last girl, with tanned skin and blonde hair, and she was on a sort of boat, but too small, with no sails. Like a board, floating in the ocean. Strange.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Castiel whispered, and she hushed him, watching as the girl glanced out to sea.

“Sister—”

“Shh!”

And as she hushed him, a wave rolled in, and the girl stood, laughing for joy as the board carried her to shore, the board balanced on the wave. Anabiel gasped. “Oh!”

It was marvelous. The girl was beaming as she paddled back out to wait for the next wave, laying down on top of the board and watching the sky as she bobbed on the ocean. Anabiel watched the girl’s small wrists trailing in the water.

 _She_ was marvelous. Her laugh had ripped through Anabiel with the strength of a sword. The mermaid slid further from beyond the rock, peeking around so that her head and shoulders were visible. She wanted to be closer, to talk to the girl on the board, to ask her a dozen questions and hear her laugh again.

Castiel hissed out a warning from behind her, but she ignored him, and moved the slightest bit closer. Then the girl turned her head.

Their eyes met for a long moment that stretched on into infinity.

Then Anabiel was yanked by the elbow back beyond the rock, back to Castiel, who was staring at her like she’d gone sun-mad.

“What were you doing? You know how dangerous it is—and she’s coming over here now,” Castiel breathed, fear widening his eyes. Anna glanced over and saw that the girl was indeed paddling over, but her heart pounded with something that was far from fear—it was something like joy.

“Hello?” the girl called. “Is anyone—?”

The rest of her question was cut off.

“Joanna Beth,” a voice shouted from the shore, and the human girl jerked and glanced over, “you get back up here right now and get to work, young lady!”

The girl swore in a fashion Anabiel had often heard from the sailor boys or the fishermen in their boats that caught crabs and her brothers and sisters. Anabiel frowned. It didn’t seem like something such a pretty girl would do. It was so coarse and angry-sounding.

Castiel hovered behind her, his dark tail twitching under the water. “Sister,” he whispered, nervous, “we should go. She may see us.”

“Hush,” Anabiel whispered.

“To be seen—”

“Is a crime, I know, I _know_ ,” she huffed. “I just want to watch, brother.”

Castiel bit his lip and said nothing.

The girl was glancing over again. Anabiel ducked. Her heart beat steadily, but it felt strange, like it was crawling up her throat in anticipation.

Her last sight of the strange human girl was her back as she paddled the wooden board back to shore. Castiel breathed out, relieved, and swam away, pausing when Anabiel didn’t follow him.

“Anabiel?” He turned her name into a question, a furrow between his brows.

“Joanna Beth,” Anabiel whispered.

She stared at the beach, at the horizon, where the girl had vanished. It was such a lovely name. Not like the names of the merfolk that swished in your mouth like wind and seawater. This name was sturdy, earthy; lovely as the glittering sand.

“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered, and flicked her tail in salute as she swam away, down deep—home.

Michael would be angry.

Anabiel found she didn’t care, much.

 

The next day, when she swam to the rocks again, the girl wasn’t there.

She left quickly, a lump in her throat that she didn’t understand.

Castiel said it was just as well. “It would only have led to trouble, sister,” he said kindly, kissing her forehead. “You remember what happened to Uriel. What they did to him—”

“I don’t think they are all the same,” Anabiel whispered.

“Perhaps not,” Castiel said, but Anabiel felt like he was just humoring her. “But how are you going to tell which is which?”

She couldn’t answer. He smiled, sadly, and touched her cheek.

“Sleep. Forget the things from Above you like so much,” he said. “It was childish of us both to hold on for so long.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I like the humans enough,” Castiel shrugged, “but what is the point if they will only hurt us? We should stay here, where it’s safe.”

 

She didn’t go back the next day, or the next, or the next, but a week after the day when she had first seen the girl, when Castiel had stopped watching her quite so carefully, she slipped away and headed Above.

She settled on the sun-drenched side of the rocks, leaving her tail dragging in the water, to rest. She hadn’t been sleeping well since she’d seen the girl, her mind keeping her awake with questions and sorrows and hopes.

The sunshine was warm. She didn’t mean to sleep, but surely, it wouldn’t hurt—

 

* * *

 

Jo had been having a singularly bad day. First Dean complaining about Sam ( _again,_ Jesus, they fought more than she and her mother did on their bad days) and then Dean whining about how he wasn’t going to apologize until Sam did, and some bullshit about Sam not telling Dean stuff, which Jo didn’t even want to address, her headache was so bad at that point, and Dean never told Sam anything anyway, why should he complain?

She loved Dean and all, and she loved Sam, but she hated being a go-between in their stupid little squabbles—and then she’d had to work for hours, and all the guys at the bar had hit on her, and she’d had to grin and bear it when they called her a tease for saying no, and then Mom had yelled at her for being late with the tables. The whole day had been shit, and her mind had kept wandering to the ocean, and the small patch of rocks where the girl with green eyes had been a week ago.

She’d gone back when she had time, but that wasn’t often, and she hadn’t seen her again.

Finally, _finally,_ her shift was over, and she dashed upstairs in scramble for her wetsuit and her board and ran the two blocks to the beach, even with the heavy board slipping in her grip.

Plunging into the ocean was always like coming home.

She could relax here, and be herself, and there was no one to yell at her, or complain in her direction. There were just the waves, alive under her feet, and her board, an extension of her limbs. She’d learned to surf when she was ten—Dad had taught her—and she’d never looked back.

Now here she was, twenty-three, still surfing. Still suck in the same little town with a bunch of small-town surfing trophies and a job and her mom’s bar.

Sometimes she hated it. She’d even tried to leave, once. But the sea had always called her back.

A more romantic girl than Jo would have giggled and sighed and dreamed of magic. Of nights spent with the moon reflecting off the water, of love pulsing through her every pore.

Maybe Jo did think about that, sometimes, but she was realistic, and realistic girls did not fall in love with the ocean.

(That was what she told herself, but why else would she be unable to leave?)

 

After an hour, she collapsed on her board and stared at the sky, and let her head fall in the direction of the rocks, hoping for something, anything.

She saw a hand.

A thin, pale hand, hanging carelessly off the edge of the rock; unmoving.

Unmoving, almost like—like it was _dead._

Jo shivered, and almost left, then remembered the green eyes of the girl, the bright light of them, and remembered that someone had pulled her back. If that someone loved her—and if she were really dead, there on the rock—well. Jo thought that the someone deserved to know that their green-eyed girl was gone.

So she paddled closer. An arm came into view, and the top of a head, closed eyes. Jo bit her lip. Could she really—

Her hair was dark red and shining, sea-wavy and dry. She’d been on this rock for a while, then.

Her eyes were shut, and she—Jo averted her eyes, blushing. She was naked.

Except—and her eyes slid back, guiltily—was there something on her legs?

It was red, nearly the same shade as the girl’s hair, and softly shimmering, under the water—

Jo blinked. Then rubbed her eyes. Then blinked, again.

“Holy hell,” she muttered.

A mermaid. Jesus Christ, the girl was a _mermaid,_ with a shimmery red tail. It was twitching slightly in the water, which prompted relief. Not dead, then. Good. A mermaid was one thing. Jo didn’t know if she could have handled a _dead_ mermaid.

She sat there, watching, as the girl started to stir.

Her eyes, when she opened them, were the same devastating green that Jo remembered.

 

* * *

 

 

When Anabiel woke, the blonde girl, Joanna Beth, was next to her.

She should have run. Michael would have told her to run. Castiel would have told her to run.

Anabiel sat up and smiled, timid. The girl looked away, blushing.

“Could you, like,” she waved a hand at Anabiel, “cover up, please?”

The mermaid frowned, looking at her tail. “Does my tail offend you? Are you afraid?”

“No, I mean—” The girl sighed. “Usually,” she says, “you know, humans, we cover up our chests in public.”

“Oh,” Anabiel said. “That seems odd. Why?”

“I dunno.” Joanna Beth frowned. “Never thought about it. But we do it, and could you, please?”

Anabiel frowned, and dove into the water, finding some rather long seaweed at the bottom. Feeling silly, and clumsy, she tied it around her chest, and then swam back to the surface. It was tight, but she could breathe.

“Is this better?”

“Thank you,” Joanna Beth said. “Yeah, it is.”

“Why do you have to do it?” Anabiel asked again. “Down there, all we have is our tails. You all look the same underneath your clothes anyway, don’t you?”

“Yeah? Kind of. Girls and boys are different, but you probably know that.”

“They are?” Anabiel asked, fascinated. “How?”

“Wait, they’re not? Down there, I mean, they’re not different?”

“Well, the chests are different. But our tails are all the same. Aren’t your legs all the same? I thought that.”

“But that’s so weird,” Joanna Beth said, frowning. “I mean, how do you have kids?”

“Young ones?”

“Yeah, how are they born?”

“Same as anyone is, silly,” Anabiel laughed. “We find them in the shallows. Or the very deep parts. And we take them home. There haven’t been as many, recently, though. The last ones born were Hael and Samandriel. We found Hael in the crystal caves. Castiel and I found her and—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Joanna Beth held up her hands. “That’s not how it works up here. Babies—young ones—they grow inside their mothers and—”

Anabiel felt herself frown. “What’s a mother?”

“You don’t have a mother or father?”

“I have a Father,” the mermaid answered, feeling puzzled. “The first-born. He is Father to us all. Michael was second. The first-born never returns home anymore, so Michael takes over his duties.”

“So all other mermaids are your brothers and sisters?”

“The mermen are my brothers and the maids my sisters, yes. It is different, then, Above?”

“Yeah,” Joanna Beth laughed. “Real different. We, um, there’s a mother and a father, see, and they have babies. There are usually a few babies per mother and father, and those babies are all siblings, you know, brothers and sisters. Or sometimes there’s only one baby per family, and that baby has no brothers, or sisters.”

“Young ones do not just Become?”

“No, of course not. The parents—the mother and father—they have to have sex first, and then there’s this whole biological shebang to make the kid and then the mother gets pregnant.”

Anabiel frowned. “Sex?”

“You don’t have sex down there?” Joanna Beth said, surprised. “I guess you wouldn’t have the parts, though. Too bad.”

“Why is it bad?”

“You’re missing out, that’s all.” Joanna Beth’s smile was crooked, and lovely. Anabiel ached for more like it.

“That’s odd,” she said finally. “Humans are very odd.”

“Well,” Joanna Beth said, “you guys are kinda odd too.” She stuck out a hand. “I’m—”

“I know your name.” Anabiel said proudly. “It’s Joanna Beth. I heard someone yell it.”

The girl groaned. “Just call me Jo. _Please._ I hate my full name.”

“I think it’s lovely,” Anabiel said. “It sounds like the earth.”

Jo blushed, the freckled tip of her nose going red. Anabiel smiled.

“I am Anabiel,” she added, because it seemed appropriate.

“Anabiel,” Jo mused. “Nice name. Kinda long, though, like Joanna Beth.” She grinned, crookedly. “Can I call you Anna?”

“No one has ever done that before. I think I would like it.”

“Hello, Anna,” Jo said, her hand still outstretched. Anabiel took it, and twined their fingers together.

“Hello, Jo.”

“That’s not how you shake hands,” Jo said, the blush on her nose returning. Anabiel frowned, and shook her arm, letting both their arms bounce. Jo laughed, and guided it into a soft sort of swing.

“There,” Jo said. “That’s saying hello.”

“Oh,” Anabiel said. “Hello.” She shook for a little longer, and then stopped, letting their hands stay entwined. “I like learning about humans.”

“Is that why you waited here?”

“I came back the first day,” Anabiel said, feeling odd, a lump in her throat again. “But you weren’t there. I was disappointed.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Did you try to come back?”

“Yeah,” Jo said. “Only my mother kept me at the bar, because people were there, and I had to—”

“A bar?”

“It’s a sort of place where you eat,” Jo sighed. “I guess. Man, it’s gonna be hard explaining everything to you.”

Anabiel felt her tail droop. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be. It’s not a bother, just weird.” Jo said hurriedly. “I want to learn about you and your family, too. What are they like?”

“Castiel is my favorite,” Anabiel said, frowning. “He is my age. We were found the same day. We knew our names, but nothing else. He has dark hair and blue eyes, and he is a good swimmer. He won lots of races when we were young ones. But now he is all grown up, and he acts stuffy. He says we should stop worrying about Above, and that we are not children anymore. But I want to know. I want to see everything. I think he is afraid.”

“Of what?”

Anabiel hesitated a moment, but Jo was so good, and her eyes were so earnest. She was not like the terrible ones that had taken Uriel away. Anabiel was sure of it.

“Of what happened to Uriel,” Anabiel said, “one of the brothers he was closest to. Uriel swam too close to a boat and got caught in a net. They tried to take him away, to sell him.”

“What did he do?” Jo looked worried, her eyes wide.

“He found a bottle that said _danger_ on it. And then he drank it, and it made him sick. They thought it was lack of water, and they lowered him back into the ocean, but he had a sharp rock with him and cut the net they were keeping him in and swam away.” Anabiel looked away, feeling the sea gather in her eyes. “Castiel chased after him, but there was nothing he could do. We let the current pull him away.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jo said, and something in the apology made Anabiel’s throat catch.

“He is afraid, you see. Of humans. Of you, even. I think I should be afraid of you too,” Anabiel said. Jo blinked at her.

“But you’re not.”

“No,” the mermaid agreed, smiling, “I’m not. And I don’t want to be. You are kind and good, and beautiful. I want to talk to you. I think that we could be friends.”

“Yeah?” Jo asked, laughing a little. “Friends, huh?”

“You would be my first friend that wasn’t a brother or sister,” Anabiel said seriously. “I would like that very much. How do humans become friends? Is it different than how we do it Below?”

Jo started to really laugh then, and it was like thunder; not in the sound of it, but in the way it flashed though Anabiel’s body, the way it settled warm in her bones.

“Anna,” Jo said, beaming, “we already are friends.”

“Oh!” Anabiel said, smiling. “So it is not very different at all. That’s wonderful.”

The smiled at each other for a long moment, until Anabiel turned away, feeling silly. The sun had started to dip into the ocean.

“Shit!” Jo exclaimed. “It’s getting late! Oh, shit, I have to go, Mom’s gonna be worried—”

“But you will come back?” Anabiel asked, worried.

“Oh.” Jo stopped moving for a moment, then smiled, warm. It washed over Anabiel’s skin like a balm. “Yeah, of course. Meet you here tomorrow, same time?”

“Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Jo laughed.

“ _I_ don’t hope you die,” Anabiel answered, frowning. “Please don’t. Then you couldn’t meet me here.”

“It’s an expression, Anna,” Jo explained. “It means I promise, and I’ll keep the promise.”

“Oh,” Anabiel said, understanding, and sliding into the water. “See that you do.”

The sound of Jo’s laughter, like music, followed her as she swam away.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Sam brought her a pamphlet.

“Heard you were looking into this,” he said. It was the training program for the local police force.

She looked at him, then at the pamphlet, and shoved in her back pocket.

“Thanks, Sam,” she muttered.

“So when are you gonna tell your mom?” he asked casually, and she almost dropped the soda she was filling up.

“It’s not like that,” she said weakly.

He raised his eyebrows and took a bite of his salad. “Really? Because I thought that’s exactly what it was like.”

“Don’t talk to me about fighting with your relatives about school, Sam,” she snapped.

“I’m kind of the only one who can,” he pointed out. “Look, I speak from experience. Once you tell her, you’ll feel better.”

Jo brought the sodas to table three and didn’t answer.

 

She went back to the rock to see Anna as soon as her shift was over.

The mermaid gave her the biggest, brightest grin she had ever seen, like seeing Jo was the highlight of her day.

It had been a real long while since someone had been as excited about seeing her as she was about seeing them.

 

* * *

 

Jo came back every day. It was Anna’s secret.

She never meant for it to be, but it was. It was delicious to have something all her own, a friend that only she knew about. Jo would be waiting on the rock and Anna would meet her there and Jo would tell her about the world on land; about carnivals and mothers and cheeseburgers and fireworks. Fireworks were the only thing that Anna had seen before. People launched them from boats, but she’d never understood how they could _be_. Castiel had always said they must be the work of witches like the one who had taken Gabriel from them.

Jo also told her about other things, more everyday things—well, everyday for her. Everything was marvelous and new to Anna, which meant she listened to everything hungrily, anything Jo wanted to tell. So Jo told her about families and jobs and working and shopping, and Anna listened, amazed at the complexity of it.

In turn, Anna told her about coves, and the little fish that would filter through your hair like it was seaweed; about dolphins and sea turtles, about the endless life and loveliness of the ocean. About treasure hunting with Castiel in the wreckage of ships.

“Of course, we are much too old for that now, he says,” she told Jo bitterly, and Jo patted her arm.

 

Castiel found out after two weeks of the most glorious secret anyone had ever had.

Predictably, Castiel also thought she was mad.

“They will take you away like they took Uriel,” he insisted, after appearing too soon to look for her and seeing her waving goodbye to Jo one afternoon. He’d tugged her back into the water and shook her by the shoulders, eyes filled with fear. “You’ll die!”

“I’ll be fine,” she reassured him. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

He blinked, puzzled. She laughed.

“It means I promise,” she explained, heart light with the knowledge of everything Jo was teaching her. “It means I promise and I’ll never break my promise.”

“It’s _odd_ ,” Castiel said. “Anabiel—”

“Anna,” she corrected. He frowned.

“What?”

“I want you to call me Anna.”

He placed a hand to her forehead. “Are you well?”

“Perfect.” She smiled, twirled in place. “Wonderful.”

“You are trying to be like them,” Castiel said quietly. “Why? Aren’t you happy, here? With us?”

He looked odd and quietly vulnerable for a moment. Like a young one. Like he had the first time they’d swam to the surface and seen the dark woman on the boat who laughed and kissed and smiled like danger and fire.

Maybe that was how Castiel saw humans still, Anna thought.

“Come with me,” she said. “Meet Jo. You’ll understand.”

“Meet her?”

Anna nodded.

“No,” Castiel said. “No, I couldn’t. We aren’t _supposed_ to.”

 

“My brother Castiel thinks I’m mad,” Anna told Jo the next day.

“Yeah, well,” Jo huffed, leaning back on the rock next to her, “My mom thinks I’m crazy, too.”

There was a soft silence. Anna picked up Jo’s hand and looked at it, tracing the lines that crossed her palm.

“You know something? I always loved the ocean,” Jo said, but it felt like she was talking about something else, and Anna was confused. “Ever since my dad taught me to swim. I’ve tried to go to other beaches and other towns but it never—”

Anna watched her, watched the rise and fall of her stomach as she breathed. She was wearing different clothing today; apparently humans usually wore something different every day. Anna couldn’t imagine.

What she had worn for the weeks before was like a dark blue second skin—she called it a wet suit—but today the clothes were looser, though still blue. Jo had said her wet suit was in the wash and thought no more of it, but Anna was still curious. She had forgotten, before, to ask the names of the garments, but decided to do so later.

“It never what?” she prompted, when it looked as though Jo had forgotten to finish.

“My dad died,” Jo said. “And I thought I wouldn’t ever like the ocean again but it was like—like it was calling to me, you know? Like I had to get out there and surf anyway, to—to make him proud.” She was quiet for a long moment, looking out towards the horizon. “Mom thought I needed therapy. Like I was looking for him out there.”

Jo looked at her as if she was worried that Anna wouldn’t understand, but Anna knew well the feeling of searching for something vast and unidentifiable.

“You were looking,” she said. Jo nodded, eyes turning towards the water again. “But you weren’t looking for him.”

“No one’s ever understood that before,” Jo breathed, and her voice sounded tight, and when Anna looked over the sea was spilling out of her eyes. Jo wiped at them furiously. “God, I’m sorry.”

“Do not be sorry,” Anna answered, and dropped Jo’s other hand so that she could wrap her arms around herself. “I think you are very brave, Joanna Beth.”

“Really?” Jo asked, and there was a soft kind of wobble to her voice and made Anna pause, and hoist herself up onto her elbows to look at her friend.

“You learned to love him despite having lost him,” Anna said. “I think that’s the bravest thing you could have done. You came back. You kept surfing.”

“Yeah,” Jo said. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you just want to surf?” Anna asked, trying to distract her from her sadness. “Or is there something else you want to do?”

“I finished school. I want—this is really dumb.”

“It’s not. It couldn’t be.”

“My dad,” Jo said, “my dad was a policeman. That’s—that’s like, he makes sure everyone follows the rules of the town and doesn’t get hurt. You protect people. I always wanted to be a policewoman, like him. I wanted to protect people.” She swallowed, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “He—he died while he was working and I never told my mom how I wanted to be a policewoman—and she’s always talking about how dangerous it is. I just—I wish I could tell her. We fight a lot, me and Mom. I don’t know how to make her understand.” She bit her lip and looked away.

Anna wrapped her arms around her, trying to comfort her. Jo sighed, barely audible, a soft, hopeless sound. “I wish I knew how to help you,” Anna said, drawing back, letting go. Their faces were close together, and it was making her breath catch in her throat.

Jo sucked in a breath. “I wish—”

She didn’t finish, and Anna had to prompt her again, rolling carefully onto her stomach to lean in closer to the other girl. “What do you wish, Jo?”

Jo blinked at her, and swallowed hard. The moment stretched out, too long, too full.

Then Jo turned away. “I wish I could teach you to surf,” she said quietly, and then climbed carefully onto her surfboard, shooting Anna a small smile. “Wouldn’t work though, huh?”

“No,” Anna said in a tiny voice. She felt inexplicably disappointed, as though something that was supposed to have happened had not, like Jo should have said something else, like Anna should have done something else; as thought the ending was supposed to be different. But Anna tried to smile, because Jo was. “No, it wouldn’t.” She glanced down at her tail.

She would never be able to surf. The thought made her sad.

When she looked up, Jo was still there. Still smiling a smile that was too small and too thoughtful.

“Bye,” Jo said. “See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye,” Anna whispered, and stayed on the rock to watch Jo paddle away.

 

* * *

 

“Get it together, Jo,” Dean laughed, nudging her with his shoulder. “You’ve dropped more glasses today than you’ve done for years. Who's the dude? There's gotta be a dude.”

“Whatever, Winchester,” Jo muttered, grabbing the broom.

_What do you wish, Jo?_

The broom slipped in her fingers.

“Dammit,” Jo muttered, balancing it on the counter and pressing her fingers to her eyes. “Snap out of it.”

_Anna—leaning in so close, her breath brushing Jo’s cheek, whispering, “What do you wish, Jo?”_

“ _Dammit,_ ” she said, louder. Dean raised both eyebrows at her, still filling up beers flawlessly at the counter. Even Benny was giving her the side-eye from the kitchen.

“Joanna Beth,” her mom sighed, “you clearly need a break.”

Jo had never been so happy to get out of the Roadhouse before.

She left Dean complaining about picking up her shift and _ran._

 

She was planning to go to Charlie—if there was anyone who would know what to do in this situation, it was her—but her legs carried her further. She hadn’t realized until now just how panicked she was.

 _I wish I wish I wish,_ her mind chanted. _I wish I could kiss you. I wish I could know how it feels to have you gasp into my mouth._ She wanted everything and nothing and it terrified her, the sheer feeling of it, how alien it was. She’d hosted a crush on Dean Winchester for most of freshman year, but that was nothing like this. This was vast and uncharted and incredible. This was Anna with the green eyes and bubbly laughter and the _fucking tail._

That was what cared her the most. How could they—if Anna even wanted—how could this be a _this_ if she had a tail? If Jo didn’t? If they—

She had almost kissed a mermaid. She had _wanted_ to kiss a mermaid.

A less romantic girl than Jo would have sighed, because of _course_ , hadn’t she loved the sea for so long? Hadn’t she come home smelling of salt long enough to have the ocean as a permanent part of her? Wasn’t this just fate?

But Jo was sensible, and she didn’t believe in fate.

They’d only known each other a couple _weeks._

But Anna was—Anna was—

Jo wanted to scream.

 

She found she’d stopped in front of a curio shop, and went inside, mostly for something to do. The man behind the counter beamed at her. “What’s up? Haven’t had a customer in, like, four days.”

“It’s not really tourist season,” Jo managed, and the guy shrugged. He was short as hell, with slicked-back brown hair.

“Yeah, I know, but a guy’s gotta hope.” He grinned at her. “You need anything?”

 _What the hell,_ Jo thought.

“You got anything on mermaids?”

 

The next morning, when Jo moved slowly enough that the sun was high by the time she got to the beach, Anna was waiting on the rocks. She looked remarkably like a child with her arms wrapped around herself. Jo thought, quietly, that if she had legs, she’d have her arms wrapped around them, folding herself into as small a space as possible. As it was, she seemed almost too big, almost gawky; her awkwardness ready and present in the lines of her body, and of her tail, twitching and making little splashes in the water.

When she saw Jo, her breath left her in a soft puff; her shoulders caved in, and Jo couldn’t tell if it was from relief or despair. She hesitated, still sitting on her board, aching to join Anna on the rocks but not knowing how to breach this awkwardness between them.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Anna whispered. She was looking down, now, and her fingers had knotted together. She kept twisting them, nervously. Something in Jo ached, so strong it was almost physical. “You left so quickly. I . . .”

She trailed off when Jo didn’t answer, and looked up helplessly at her.

“I’m sorry,” Jo blurted. “I was being stupid yesterday, I just . . .”

“You just?” Anna prompted, and Jo shrugged helplessly.

“I just didn’t want to fuck this up,” Jo muttered, because it’s the only truth she can tell right now. For a second, Anna looked sad.

“I understand.”

Jo looked up at her, frowning. “You do?”

“I am afraid of losing your friendship, as well,” Anna said, studying her hands. “I would not do anything to hurt you, Jo, I swear.”

Jo felt a little dizzy, like they were going in circles. She hoisted herself onto the rocks, balancing the board behind them. Anna’s shoulders smoothed themselves out a little, and Jo felt marginally relieved.

“I thought you were angry,” Anna mumbled. “When Michael or Raphael are angry, they go away. I thought you weren’t going to come here anymore, and that—I was afraid. Of that.”

Jo felt herself soften, and maybe Anna noticed, because she relaxed more, too.

“Hey,” Jo said, gently. “I’m not just gonna leave like that. You’re my friend.”

“But what if someday you decide it’s not worth it—and you don’t come back—and I never see you again?” Anna’s eyes were damp. Jo blinked. She’d had no idea their daily meetings meant so much to the mermaid.

And she knew what she had to do, then.

“I promise,” Jo said, firmly, “even if I get pissed at you, I’m always gonna come back. Okay?”

“Cross your heart?” Anna asked meekly, looking into Jo’s eyes for the first time. Jo grinned.

“Even better. Pinky swear.” She extended her pinky, and Anna stared at her like she was crazy. “Come on!”

Anna, still frowning, held out a pinky. Jo giggled.

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid,” she explains, and Anna smiles tentatively. “Okay, now we link pinkies.”

“Like this?”

“Perfect. Now,” Jo cleared her throat, “I solemnly swear that, no matter how mad I am, I will always come back.”

It felt too much like a much more serious promise, but it made Anna relax fully, like she wasn’t afraid anymore, and that made it worth it.

“Oh,” Anna said. “This is an important kind of promise then?”

“The most important kind,” Jo assured her.

“Well,” Anna frowned. “Then I swear as well. I will always return to you.”

Jo swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat and managed a shaky smile. “Cool.”

 _Cool_ didn’t even cover it, but the deep and bubbling and aching feeling in her chest could be pushed down in favor of it for now.

“So!” Jo said, dropping Anna’s pinky, feeling a flush creep up her cheeks. “I found this awesome book in a curio shop about mermaids, maybe there’s some stuff there that’s true and not myth.”

“That sounds interesting,” Anna said, a real smile pulling at her cheeks, and Jo was so relieved that they were back to normal, she could have cried.

“Yeah, it is,” she babbled, trying to keep the smile as long as possible. As she went on describing the book, waving her hands around, grinning and probably looking like an idiot, Anna’s smiles grew wider until she was giggling, her eyes bright again, and Jo thanked every fucking deity she knew of.

 

* * *

 

“Castiel, do you know love?”

“Of course I do,” he said impatiently. “What an odd question, sister. We love each other. We love the Father.”

“I mean _different_ love.” Anna felt restless, impatient, and she wasn’t sure why.

Jo had often mentioned people loving each other, Above. Anna was smart enough to realize that loving someone Above meant something different than it did Below. Below, everyone was loved the same, simply, warm, like family. But Jo had explained that there were so many people above it was impossible to love them all this way. You loved some people as friends, some as family, and some as more.

Anna had asked Jo if there was someone she loved More, and Jo had blushed and had not answered. This usually meant that Jo didn’t want to talk about something, so Anna let it be.

But this meant she had to turn to less reliable sources, so Castiel it was.

He looked at her, not sharply, just puzzled. “Why do you ask?”

“The humans have it,” she said simply. “And I want to know what it’s like. I think it must be wonderful.”

Castiel didn’t say anything for a moment, but then smiled, almost _dreamily._ Anna had never seen such an expression on her serious brother’s face before.

“Yes,” he said; voice soft. “I suppose it must be.”

 

* * *

 

“This wasn’t enough,” Jo told the storekeeper. “You got anything else?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “’Course I do, there’s just one problem.”

“And that is?” Jo’s eyebrows crept up her forehead. “I have money.”

“That’s not the problem,” the guy snorted. “You know, I don’t get you. You come in looking for books about mermaids, why? You don’t look like a fairy-tale kind of girl.”

“Was that the problem?”

“Tight-lipped, huh?” The guy smirked. “Whatever. Look, this stuff is all different. Every book says different shit. You take my books, you come back and return them for free with a look on their face like they were incorrect.” He crossed his arms, and Jo mirrored it. “What are you doing?”

“That’s my business,” Jo said. “Just gimme the book. Twenty-five, right?”

“On the house,” the guy said, “in exchange for your name.”

“Are you seriously hitting on me?” Jo sighed, paying.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said, laughing a little.

She paused at the door, looking back.

“It’s Jo,” she told him.

He grinned.

She got the feeling he hadn’t really been hitting on her.

 

* * *

 

“Jo, your books,” Anna said, hesitantly. Jo had not mentioned the books in a while. Anna thought perhaps she’d lost interest in them. But she’d been wondering—and maybe—

“What about my books?” Jo was lying on her back, smiling at the sky. They’d been watching the clouds, and Jo had mentioned, offhand, that she’d used to watch clouds in a park near her home.

“Do you ever think,” Anna swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at Jo, “that maybe one of them knows a way to make me like you?”

“I—what?” Jo sat up, and focused on her fully. “Why would you—”

“Never mind,” Anna whispered, feeling quietly awkward and moving to slide off the rock.

“No, wait,” Jo said, and reached out, wrapping her fingers quietly around Anna’s wrist. “What do you mean?”

“I just,” she felt skittish, somehow, like anything she said or did could either make or break this quiet peace, like if she voiced what she was feeling, Jo would leave in disgust, or she would agree, and she didn’t know what was more terrifying.

“C’mon,” Jo whispered, teasing, her eyes wide and earnest. “Tell me.”

“I wish I could be like you,” she blurted. “I wish I could be human.” She held her breath, waiting.

Jo laughed.

Jo _laughed_ , short and harsh and she dropped Anna’s wrists and it was full of dismissal, whether Jo meant it that way or not. Anna’s worry washed away, and all she could feel was bitter disappointment, because just like Castiel, Jo hadn’t understood.

“Why? I dunno, maybe Dean’s rubbing off on me, he’s always talking about how stupid we are, but—we’re not as great as you think. You shouldn't want to be human, Anna, it’s stupid.”

“No!” Anna hissed, angry, crossing her arms. “No, don’t talk to me like that. Like it’s just some sort of childish dream. I’ve wanted this longer than you know, I’ve wanted it for forever, for as long as I could _breathe,_ I’ve just looked up there at the shore and do you know how hard it is to want something like that when everyone is telling you you’ll never have it, Jo, do you know how they _looked_ at me? Silly little Anna, she doesn’t know up from _down_ —”

Her voice cracked, and she blinked, forcing back the sea. Jo so often made it spill from her eyes—she wondered why she wanted to come back, still. “You are so beautiful. _All_ of you. You make things. You make boats and food and clothing and you _walk_ and dance and laugh and I’ve never heard anyone laugh like you do, Jo.”

She turned away from Jo’s face, which was shocked, her hands still outstretched. “Never mind,” she whispered, wiping furiously at her eyes. “You don’t understand.”

There was a silence that stretched out like something breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Jo whispered.

“I don’t know why I ever want to come back here sometimes,” Anna breathed, and she felt dreadful even saying it, and the look on Jo’s face broke her heart, but she had promised to always be truthful. “You make me cry and you treat me like a child. I’m _not_. I’ve watched you all for years. I don’t just want this because I think it would be _fun._ Do you know how much you humans can _learn?_ How much _I_ want to learn? I don’t know anything about anything. I want to know where I came from. I want to know how I Became, Jo. And you look at me like I’m a silly little girl who wants to dance on the beach and eat crab cakes!”

“Anna,” Jo started, and she looked terrified, and Anna couldn’t bear it.

She’d never felt anything this strongly before and for a moment she was terrified, too—she wanted to be home with Castiel in the shallow places where they slept, she wanted to be back to dreaming and before she knew Jo, and she slid into the water to go, wiping furiously as the sea streaked her cheeks with salt.

“Anna, please, _please_ don’t go, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jo said, and her voice was cracking too, and Anna thought maybe she saw a bit of the sea in her eyes, too.

Everything inside Anna was cracking in two. It hurt. It hurt too much—

She dove into the ocean, letting the water drown out Jo’s shout.

 

* * *

 

_No. No, no, no, come on, come on!_

“Anna,” Jo shouted, and her voice was worn and cracking, and she rubbed tears off her cheeks furiously. “Anna, come back, _please—”_

“If I know her, she won’t come back for a while. You needn’t yell.”

Jo screamed and nearly fell off the rock.

“It’s nice to meet you, Joanna Beth,” the dark-haired merman continued. “I’m Castiel.”

“Yeah, hey, Cas.” Jo gasped, once hand over her rapidly calming heart. “Gimme some warning next time.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “ _Castiel._ ”

“Castiel,” she agreed. “Whatever. It’s a weird-ass name either way. What do you want?”

She didn’t really mean what little politeness she’d been able to scrounge up. She was actually not over wanting to be alone for a while to frown at her own hands and feel sulky, especially when Anna had freaked out over nothing and left Jo here all alone.

“Well,” Castiel said. “I saw her swimming past me with the sea coming from her eyes, and I thought you were probably the cause. I was planning on drowning you, actually.”

He was so casual about it that all Jo could do was gape at him.

“Right,” she said weakly. “Um. Please don’t.”

“I don’t think I will, no,” Castiel agreed, and moved as if he would swim away before pausing for a second.

Jo waited, thinking maybe he’d decided to drown her after all.

He sighed. “She cares for you,” he muttered, almost to himself, then looking up at you. “You didn’t mean to hurt her. Come back tomorrow, I’ll try to get her to come here.”

He swam away quickly, glancing nervously at the shoreline like a boat was waiting just to come get him. Jo’s _thank you?_ rang into empty air.

 

* * *

 

Anna was ripping the seaweed off from around her chest when Castiel found her.

She was in one of her favorite coves, one that glittered when sunlight filtered in.

“You followed me,” she accused.

“I know you better than you think,” is all he said in reply.

“You don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t know anything.”

“Oh, don’t I?”

She was silent and glaring, her hair like flame around her face, and Castiel wondered at that, wondered at how she seemed built on contradictions, his sister; mermaid but human, loving but angry, built of water and salt and sea with hair like flame.

“I know that you are afraid,” he said finally. “Of what you feel. I know that you are lost. And I know that the feelings themselves are something I can’t understand yet, that I just know them as definitions, but you, _you,_ I know.”

She looked over at him, finally, seawater spilling from her eyes. They were wide and green and so broken he feared touching her.

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to be like,” she whispered finally. “It’s all so—so _intense._ Do they feel like this every day?”

Castiel was quiet for a moment, and then sighed.

“There is something I have never told you, sister.”

“What?”

“I thought I loved once.” He smiled, and felt one side of his mouth go heavy with the weight of his words. “I thought I loved like the humans do.”

She looked at him imploringly.

“I was wrong. She tried to take me away and sell me to a museum—and then Uriel was taken, too, by her, by _them._ I was afraid for you, afraid that you would make my mistakes; that you would trust the wrong human.”

“Who was she?”

“Her name was Meg,” he said. “She had dark hair. I don’t remember much else. I tried to forget.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“You should trust her,” Castiel told her gently. “I know you think she does not understand, but I don’t think anyone can. You are unique in the universe, Anna, a mermaid with the feelings of a human. A human wouldn’t know, and another of our kind wouldn’t know. Only you would. But she wants to know. She wants to help, I think.”

“I care for her,” Anna said softly.

“And she cares for you,” Castiel replied.

He left Anna sitting in the cave to think, swam to the surface, and went to the patch of rocks near the beach that he frequented when he wanted to be alone.

He has done his best, he supposed. Now there was nothing left to do but wait.

He closed his eyes. He hadn’t told her everything, not yet.

He’d thought he loved twice.

This second time, he was just being a bit more cautious about it.

He waited on the rocks until the sky grew gold and the man reached shore and sat on the sand, and Castiel watched him. He didn’t move. Neither did the man. This was routine, now. A routine that the man perhaps didn’t know existed, but a routine nonetheless, and Castiel delighted in it, when the man came to shore—only sometimes, his visits were never regular—to skip stones and stare out at the ocean like he was trying to see the bottom.

Castiel always sat on his rocks, safely hidden, and watched.

Cautious, indeed.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Jo ran out before her mom could even wake up enough to tell her to put on an apron and headed out to wait on the rock. She’d wait all day if she had to, she told herself firmly, arms wrapped around her knees. She had to say sorry somehow. She’d say it every day for a million years if that was what it took.

Overdramatic, yes. Accurate? Also yes.

Jo sighed and laid her chin on her knees, folding up her body. She’d fucked up and she knew it, though she wasn’t sure what exactly she’d done, and now all that was left was for her to fix it somehow.

She was so deep in her thoughts she didn’t even notice Anna was there until her friend coughed.

“Woah!” Jo half-shouted, almost falling off the rock. “Hi! Hi.” She tried to calm her breathing. Anna looked faintly amused, but there was an undercurrent of fear in her eyes that made Jo realize just how well she knew her. She didn’t think anyone else would have noticed that fear.

“Hello,” Anna said, and then they were both quiet.

Jo had worked herself up with scenarios for the past twelve hours, but somehow she’d never expected this awkwardness, this lack of  everything they’d built in the past few weeks, like it was humming and undeniable but trapped. Like they were both holding back and afraid.

Jo had never been good with awkward silences.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” she blurted. Anna’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“For a moment I thought that too,” she said quietly. “Even after Castiel—but then I remembered our promise.”

“Promise,” Jo echoed numbly.

Carefully, deliberately, Anna reached out and linked their pinkies together. “I will always return to you,” she whispered, “no matter how angry I am.”

Jo just looked at her for a minute, a swirling, bubbling feeling in her chest that felt a lot like hope.

“I’m really sorry,” she said finally. “I didn’t know how much it meant to you.”

“I think maybe I shouldn’t have expected you to,” Anna whispered, tracing her fingers through the water and not looking at her. “I think—I think I was not thinking properly. I expected you to understand. I thought—”

She bites her lip, like she’s thinking very carefully about what to say next.

“I thought that was why I was so drawn to you. I thought we were kindred spirits. But I think maybe that’s not why. Maybe I was wrong.”

Jo’s hands were shaking. “So, what, we’re not friends anymore?”

Anna looked up, stricken, and Jo couldn’t help but feel relieved. “ _No._ No, of course not.” She took a deep breath. “That’s not what I meant. I’m still your friend, Jo. If you want me to be.”

Jo nodded dumbly.

“But I—sometimes I think that maybe it doesn’t matter, that we’re not what I thought, that maybe this can be,” she was struggling, and Jo felt a flash of sympathy. How hard could it be to try to describe things you’d never felt before, things you didn’t understand yet? “Something. Something else. I don’t know.” Anna looked at her, helplessly, tail flicking nervously in a out of the water.

Jo wanted to kiss her. This was everything she’d wanted to hear and at the same time she didn’t feel entitled to any of it. Anna might not even know what she was saying.

But didn’t it make sense that she could understand? From everything Jo had told her, from everything she had seen? Maybe she knew enough. Maybe she—

But Jo couldn’t hope for that. That was unfair. She didn’t—

“Sometimes I look at you,” Anna gulped. “And you look like the sun. Golden. I don’t understand it.”

“I think you’re my best friend,” Jo said softly. “Isn’t that weird?”

“No,” Anna said. Her tail flicked, back and forth, nearly a nervous habit. “I think you’re my best friend, too.”

The air hung heavy around them. Jo licked her lips, her own nervous habit.

Anna’s eyes traced the motion and Jo felt like she was drowning, the world made of molasses, not the water she knew so well.

“Jo,” Anna whispered, “do your books tell the truth about me?”

“I dunno,” Jo said. Her mouth was dry. “Do you drown people?”

“We used to. Sometimes. It was like a game, you see. We used to see who could get the most in a week.” She bit her lip, looking away. “I don’t anymore.”

“Did they deserve it?”

It was an odd question to ask, Jo knew that. Even _if_ they deserved it—

But the book said that mermaids were shadowed creatures that delighted in the seduction and torture of sailors, and Jo knew that wasn’t true. Anna wasn’t like that. Castiel, too, for all his irritation and fear, wasn’t like that.

Anna nodded sheepishly, and Jo nodded too, and put an arm around Anna’s shoulders. Her friend melted into her side, her shoulders relaxing.

“Then okay,” Jo said, wondering how her life had gotten to this point. “I guess they do tell the truth. For some stuff.”

Anna smiled against her shoulder, recognizing forgiveness. Or maybe it wasn’t quite forgiveness, really, it was more like Jo just plain didn’t care. She was a mermaid. She had drowned sailors. Jo knew she’d gotten used to much weirder things, and she could get used to this, too.

“I got a new book,” Jo continued. “I’ll bring it tomorrow. It’s small enough, and we can read it together. And it looks promising, or whatever. True, like, all of it. Maybe we could find a way. Like you wanted.”

“Thank you,” Anna said sincerely, looking up, and her smile was wide and bright and Jo never wanted to look away. And then—

Suddenly, they were too close. Suddenly Anna's smile was fading, replaced by something soft around her eyes, something glowing and warm and aching. Her eyes were so huge and murky green, like seawater, unfairly gorgeous, the type that made you forget where you were and what you wanted and your own damn name. Anna leaned in closer, maybe subconsciously, but Jo didn’t think so, not by the way their lungs were both hitching. Not by the way Anna’s eyes dropped to Jo’s lips again and she swallowed, visibly; nervous.

Taking a deep breath, Jo reached out, pulling Anna closer, fingers closing around the mermaid’s bicep. Anna's eyelids fluttered closed—

Their lips met, lush.

Anna’s mouth tasted like salt water and sunlight and her hands traced up Jo’s back like fire and it was an effort to pull back, to let go.

When the kiss broke, Anna’s eyes were still closed; she licked her lips, thoughtful. Jo just watched her, hands clammy and heart pounding.

“Oh,” Anna said distantly. “I’ve often wondered what that was like.”

Jo swallowed hard.

Anna smiled and carefully rested her head against Jo’s shoulder. “It was lovely,” she added, and her breath tickled Jo’s cold skin, and Jo let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I’d like to do it again, if that’s okay.”

Her eyes were earnest and her smile was warm and Jo laughed softly into her hair.

“Anytime,” she said softly.

"Did you know," Anna said, and she relaxed so that their bodies melted against each other, and Jo let her fingers trace over the spot on Anna's hip where skin became scale. "Did you know, Jo, why the ocean tastes of salt?"

"Tell me," Jo said, feeling pleasantly drowsy.

"Well," Anna said. "You see, it's made of tears. When the sky cries, it fills the basin of the ocean with tears."

Jo grinned at the weirdness of it.

"You really think the sky's  _alive_?"

"Oh course, Jo," Anna said gently. "Everything is alive."

"Tell me about the sky."

"The breadth of the sky grows dark, and she lets her tears fall. They melt into the ocean," Anna said, snuggling closer under Jo's chin. "and they make it taste of salt. When you cry, it tastes of salt, too, because we are all under one sky, we are all on one earth. We are all made of the same dust." She looked, a little sheepishly, down at her tail. "That's what the story is, anyway."

Jo let her face rest in Anna's hair to hide her wide grin. "It's beautiful," she said.

"Do you have stories like that?" Anna asked.

"Tons," Jo promised. "I'll tell you some later."

The waves crashed, and Anna was small and warm in Jo’s arms, and there, together, they fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

They woke up to the sounds of distant shouting from the shore.

Anna didn’t want to move, at first. She just grumbled and tried to sleep again. Sleeping in the sunlight was an indulgence she rarely allowed herself—it was so _warm_ , and soft, and she always had pleasant dreams—but she knew that it was a sure way to get caught. And if there were shouts, there were humans. So she struggled to sit up, and then Jo fell off their rock into the ocean.

She burst up out of the water sputtering and gasping. Anna giggled.

“Did you—did you _push_ me?” Jo asked, outraged.

“No!” Anna said, and then giggled again. “No, I swear I didn’t. I just sat up, and you—you looked so _funny,_ coming out of the water like that!” She burst into helpless giggles, making her stomach hurt. Jo watched her, treading water, looking more fond than angry now.

“Damn, it got late,” she observed, and Anna shivered, realizing the hour.

“I’m cold,” she said, and Jo laughed, eyes light.

“And what, you want me to come and warm you up after you just dunked me in the ocean?”

“I did say I was sorry,” Anna said meekly, and Jo grinned and hoisted herself onto the rock again, wrapping an arm around Anna’s middle, fingers moving on the edge of her tail, on her hip. Anna shivered at how nice it felt and rested her nose on Jo’s shoulder. They sat that way, quiet, for a few moments.

“What are we gonna do?” Jo asked finally.

“Well, first you should get to the shore, because a man and his friends are looking for you and they seem terrified.”

Jo yelped and jumped. Anna sat up and smiled. “Hello, brother!”

“You’re cheerful again,” he observed. She decided to ignore that in favor of a question that had come to mind.

“How did you know they were looking?” Anna asked, frowning a little in thought. “Did you check?”

“I was sitting on a patch of rocks,” Castiel said, “and I heard shouting.” He wrinkled his nose a little. “Humans are very loud.”

“Dean?” Jo asked, frowning. “Is Dean the one out looking? And Sam, and Benny? Oh my God.”

“Well,” Castiel mused, “one was quite tall and one was very handsome, and one had a beard. The bearded one was calmest. There was a girl, too, and she had orange hair. Not red, like Anabiel, orange.” He looked at them expectantly. “Does that help?”

“Yeah,” Jo said shakily. “Those are—those are my friends. How long have we been out here?”

“It’s sunrise, soon.” Castiel said mildly. Anna frowned.

“You couldn’t have woken us?” she asked reproachfully. “I could have been found. And Jo’s friends—”

Castiel sighed. “I _am_ sorry. But I was sleeping too until I heard the shouting.” He raised his eyebrows at Jo. “You should be going.”

Jo reached over and ruffled his hair. He smoothed it back into place with less irritation than normal.

“Thanks, Castiel.” she said, sounding truly grateful. “I owe you one.”

She leaned over to Anna, then, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Anna frowned. She’d wanted another kiss like before.

“Not with your brother watching,” Jo whispered in her ear, and Anna could hear the smile in her words and wanted to taste it.

“Come back soon,” she said instead. “Bring the book. I’ll miss you.”

“Can do,” Jo said, swinging onto her board. She was beaming, so bright it was like she was the sunrise; like the sun itself couldn’t compare.

“Goodbye,” Anna said, breathless.

Jo winked. “Let’s make it _see you soon_ instead.”

She paddled away without looking back, and Anna felt a lovely sort of ache in the pit of her stomach, like pain and not like pain, like hunger and not like hunger. It warmed her to the tips of her fingers.

“Tomorrow,” Anna said softly, “she’s bringing her book. It’s about mermaids. She thinks—she thinks there could be a way.”

A way to make her human. And she could learn to surf and go to Jo’s bar and meet her friends and kiss her again, and again, and again . . .

Castiel looked very quiet all of a sudden, very calm, but not as though he was happy with the idea, like he hated it.

“You’re going to leave, then,” he said, in a rather small voice. “Forever.”

His tone was measured and quiet, but there was hurt in his eyes. And suddenly she wonders how it had been for him these past weeks, with her inching further and further away.

Anna flicked her tail guiltily. “Castiel—”

“No,” he said softly. “No, you’re right to do it, I think. I think—I think you’re brave, that’s all. And I’ll miss you.”

He was looking very determinedly at the horizon and Anna felt horrible, awful.

“I’ll visit,” she tried.

He looked at her, eyes soft, the sea spilling. “It won’t be the same, you know that, sister.”

“Wouldn’t you do it? If you could?”

He looked away from her then, looked out on to the horizon and the slowly rising sun. There were shouts coming from the beach now, of joy and frustration, and they knew without looking that Jo had been found.

“Yes,” he said, almost too softly for her to hear, and her brows crept up her forehead. _Yes_? Castiel, who said the surface was for children, saying yes? “Yes, I would go.”

“You—you _would_?” she gasped, leaning forward, clasping his hands between hers. “You would? Truly?”

“I would want to,” he corrected himself. “But I am not as brave as you.” His smile, when he finally looked back at her, was stretched out and sad. “Anna, you are the bravest person I know. And that world is meant for you.”

“It could be meant for you, too,” she said, impulsively. “Come with me, Cas.”

He blinked at the shortening of his name, and she took his hands in hers, sliding into the water with him. “Please, come with me. It’s beautiful out there. Jo is—Jo is beautiful.”

“You love her very much,” he said wonderingly, shaking his head. “I knew you did, but—”

“There’s so much out there that we could be, beyond this.” She blushed. “And I do. I think—I think we were meant to meet. But she is so _good._ And her friends—they’ll like us.”

“Sister,” Castiel said helplessly, “that’s not—I just don’t know, Anna. You—maybe you don’t see how terrifying it is. And I don’t want to lose the ocean.” He shook his head. “I don’t have a reason to leave, not like you do, you must know that.”

She knew. She did. But she still ached inside with the idea of leaving him with no one.

“I swear I’ll come to see you all the time,” she whispered.

When he smiled, it seemed genuine, finally; his nose scrunching up in a kind of mischief that she hadn’t seen since they were young ones.

“Perhaps I’ll come to see you and you can go on with convincing me to sprout legs,” he teased, and she laughed, listening to it as it rang out with the caw of the gulls.

 

* * *

 

She found them sitting on the pier, looking tired, and felt a rush of sympathy. At least she’d gotten some sleep. Benny looked wrecked; he was half asleep, and from the looks of it he even took his boat out looking for her. Sam was on the phone, and Dean looked murderous the moment he saw her. _Great._

She pulled up to shore and tried for a winning smile. “Hey, guys.”

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean yelled, jabbing a finger at her chest. “For _Christ’s sake,_ Jo, you can’t just do whatever you want all the time.”

She backed up a step, stung. She’d been glad to see them a second ago. “I wasn’t—I fell _asleep,_ you dick!”

“Fell asleep in the middle of the fucking _ocean_?”

“I was on a rock,” she said, crossing her arms. “I just—”

“Dean,” Charlie interrupted. “Can we not? She’s back now and she’s totally fine. She’s like twenty-three, she can handle herself.”

“ _Thank_ you,” Jo sighed. “Christ. Can we just go home? I have to find a book.”

“A book,” Sam repeated, blankly, phone forgotten against his ear.

Jo nodded firmly. “For a friend.”

As they walked back home in silence, Jo realized she was smiling, despite her irritation. Charlie poked her in the arm.

“You look weird,” she commented. “But a good weird. You’ve been off lately.”

“Yeah,” Jo said. “I’m good. I’m awesome.”

And she was. Mom was going to yell at her, and it was gonna suck, but she was awesome. She had Anna. And hope. And a book.

The book. That’s where it would all come together.

Or at least, Jo had a feeling it would.

 

The next morning, she opened it, and stared inside for a full minute before being able to actually process any of the words.

This book was older than the rest of them had been; but more than just _older_ it was handwritten, and it had an odd, briny smell to it, like it had been written next to the ocean and not in some attic or basement. But the biggest part—the part that led her to believe it was true, or at least the truest of the ones she’d read—was the way it was in total alignment with Anna’s stories.

 _Mermaids are not born like human children,_ the book read. _They are made, created. But while many mermaids believe the First-born is their creator, this is not true. They are born because of longing and injustice. When sailors are thrown overboard on ships, their death reincarnates them. That is why so many mermaids are female, because they are sailors; women who disguised themselves as men in order to travel and be free. The one who were caught were drowned, and as they fell, they changed._

_No one knows what the usual cause of a male merman is; it can be anything from unjust accusations (committing a crime, perhaps) to discovered homosexuality, but the main magic of the transformation seems to be reserved for women sailors, who make up the majority of the mermaid population. When reborn, they appear as children, and they have no memory of their former lives. They grow just as a human grows, only much, much slower. It can take anything from a hundred to two hundred years for a mermaid to grow the amount that a human would in ten._

Jo slapped the book closed, heart pounding. It wasn’t right to read this here, without Anna. Not when it looked so promising. Not when it looked so _true._

Okay. So.

Get to Anna first. She had said she’d bring the book today.

Anna, who she had kissed yesterday.

Jo felt a ridiculous smile grow on her face as she tossed the book into a backpack and raced down the stairs. Christ, she was _gone_.

She clattered down the steps and across the entrance hall and was blocked by her mother just as she pulled open the door.

“And where do you think you’re going, Joanna Beth?”

“Hey, Mom,” Jo stalled, her hand still on the doorknob.

Ellen crossed her arms, undeterred. “Where have you been for the past day and a half, Jo?”

Sometimes Jo really wished she had one of those unobservant mothers who seemed to be super common in fiction. Or, y’know, just a mother who didn’t treat her like she was a misbehaving teenager when she was twenty three fucking years old.

“Out,” Jo said snidely, knowing it would only serve to piss her mom off more but unable to help it somehow. Ellen just frowned.

“Honey, you can’t just go running all over town. I know you like surfing, but you have responsibilities here at the bar.”

“Am I supposed to have no life at all besides the one you want me to have?” Jo snapped, hyperaware of the book in her backpack and the years of resentment when her mom wouldn’t let her surf at _all_ and Anna, who must be waiting, and everything that could _happen_ if she gave her best friend legs. And what, Mom just wanted her to stay and clean glasses and sweep floors? “This is _your_ bar, Mom. This is _your_ life. It’s not mine. I don’t wanna work here all day every day and I don’t wanna be tied to coming in every morning and sweeping the floors!”

She felt grudging and unreasonable and mean, and her mother’s mouth flattened into a hard line.

“Jo, come inside, you have to work,” she started, and another voice interrupted.

“She is working.”

They both turned to see the short guy from the curio shop standing there, hands in his back pockets, and a dark-skinned woman with a small, odd smile next to him. She had a red T-shirt, and a shark-tooth necklace dangled around her neck; something that was common among the surfer boys but somehow looked intimidating around her neck. There was a bright, tacky green car parked next to them with fuzzy dice hanging on the rearview mirror.

“Jo, have you met Kali?” The guy continued. “She’s gonna help us out today.”

“Who the hell are you?” Ellen asked, not really rudely—just with confusion.

“Oh, sorry, she didn’t tell you?” the guy said, and smiled. “I’m Gabe. Jo’s been helping me comb the beach for the past few days. I lost something kinda valuable. She knows the place back to front, you know?” The shop owner shrugged. “She was nice enough to offer, and I said I’d pay her for it, so it worked out well for the both of us.” He turned, addressing Jo. “Though if we don’t find it today, I’m thinking we should give up.”

“Yeah, I was thinking that too,” she said. “I mean, I know it means a lot to you and all, but if you can’t find something that size in three days then the ocean’s probably got it.”

“Still can’t believe you want to be a cop,” Gabe snorted. “You’re so nice, ‘s weird.”

“There should be nice cops,” Jo said quietly. “Maybe there’d be less crime if people were a little more understanding.”

Ellen looked at her with surprise.

“Mom,” Jo added, and she could feel the apology clear in her voice and she knew her mother could, too. “I have to go help Gabe today. We can talk later, all right?”

Ellen nodded slowly. “All right,” she said. Not surrender. But maybe a treaty. Maybe an agreement.

But Jo would deal with that after. Right now she was all furious energy and trembling limbs and the book in her backpack still felt like a ticking time bomb. Her heartbeat pounded. Gabe and Kali were watching her.

Entirely on impulse, she leaned up to press a kiss to her mother’s cheek, something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“Bye, Mom,” she said, and got into the backseat of Gabe’s car, watching her mother through the tinted window as they drove away.

“So,” she said finally. “Thanks, I guess.”

The shopkeeper’s eyes were uncharacteristically serious as he looked back in the rearview mirror at her. “You looked like you needed a save,” he explained. “And we’re never gonna get Anabiel out of the ocean with you hanging around the bar.”

“What?” Jo screeched, her voice going an octave higher in surprise. “How did—you knew? About Anna? The whole time?” _Just like you knew how I wanted to be a cop when I've told literally no one,_ she thought, but didn't say out loud.

“Well, not at first,” Gabe said. “I figured you’d met _one_ of them. I didn’t know if it was Anabiel or not. But I hoped it was her, you know? She always—she always liked it. Humanity.” He shot her a grin in the mirror. She couldn’t smile back; her mind was whirling.

“So this book—?”

“I wrote it,” he said easily, like it wasn’t the weirdest fucking thing that had ever happened to Jo, _counting_ kissing a girl with a tail.

“It’s like a hundred years old,” Jo insisted, her voice going high again. Gabe shrugged.

“Yeah, I know.” He flashed another grin at her. “Lookin’ good, huh?”

She didn’t answer, and he squinted at her a little. “You okay, kiddo?”

“I’m not a kid,” she snapped. “And I’m fine. It’s just a lot to process.”

“Process later, read now,” Gabe suggests. Jo decides that’s probably solid advice, and opens the book again.

_Merpeople do not have books. The concept of writing, of recording, is foreign to them. There are the rare few that are curious, whether they are curious about humans or simply in general. Those merpeople commonly die. Their society and their way of life is not kind to deviation or to free thinking, and they are a proud people; they would rather die than be studied. Many, when captured by humans, kill themselves with whatever is nearby rather than be studied like rats._

Jo felt sick.

_There is much beauty in their world, but for the ones that are curious, it cannot be enough, and they wish for more, gazing upon humans and their towns with longing._

“Is she going to die?” Jo asked shakily, her hands clutching the book.

“Not if she’s smart about it,” Gabe said, and then they were at the beach, and Jo realized that she hadn’t brought her board.

“Relax,” Gabe said, before she could freak. “I’ve got a boat.”

It wasn’t a speedboat, like she’d expected. It was a little, wooden fishing boat. Two-seated. Jo felt a weird lump in her throat.

“Looks like Dad’s,” she muttered, and climbed in. Kali sat down on the beach with a notepad and gave them an odd smile.

Gabe climbed in next to her silently, and she directed him, with shaking, sweaty hands, to Anna.

 

* * *

 

“Jo is coming back today,” Anna told Castiel, who smiled rather indulgently at her.

“Yes, you’ve told me three times already.” he said, and she laughed, half embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, and then looked up, a smile already catching the corners of her mouth and tugging them up. “I’m just excited!”

He chuckled. “Go and see her, then,” he said fondly, and she gasped, swimming in a circle.

“Is the sun up high enough?” she asked anxiously, and he shook his head fondly.

“Would it stop you if it wasn’t?” he asked in return, and she bit her lip and grinned.

“I’ll see you later,” she promised, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, and swam away in a haze of excitement and dizziness and such big, marvelous, heart-bursting love that it nearly terrified her.

And then she burst the surface and her eyes locked with Jo’s, but Jo looked tired and nervous, and she was a in a little boat with a littler man—

And then the man turned and locked eyes with her, and she saw the soft curve of his smile and the amber-brown of light underwater that stayed captive in his eyes, and she gasped like the air didn’t pass through her lungs, like she was drowning.

“Gabriel . . ?” she whispered, and he nodded, and to her surprise, slid out of the boat and into the water, swimming easily, and opened his arms.

“Come here and let me hug you, little sister,” he said with such affection that the sea welled in her eyes, and she dove into his arms.

“ _Gabriel,_ ” she said, choking on a sob, “you have _legs,_ Gabriel, you have _legs,_ oh, _oh,_ ” and she struggled to breathe, struggled to not cry, and Jo had a hand over her mouth like she was going to cry, too, and Anna didn’t think; just reached for her hand and tugged her into the water and embraced her too, kissed her, and her lips tasted of sunlight and earth and set off bright lights like fireworks under Anna’s eyelids.

Gabriel was laughing.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” he said, when she and Jo separated. “And clearly you two are happy, so that’s good.”

Jo was red in the freckled tip of her nose, and Anna kissed it lovingly, making Jo laugh.

“You shouldn’t be embarrassed,” Anna said cheerfully. “I think I love you, so you shouldn’t be embarrassed.”

“I don’t usually kiss in front of people,” Jo muttered, and then froze so that she almost fell under the water. “Wait, you . . . you love me?”

“Oh,” Anna said. “Yes.”

“Oh my God,” Jo said, staring at her.

“Do you—do you not?”

“No, no way, I meant, I just—this is totally weird and it hasn’t even been that long but, um, I think I mightloveyoutoo.” Jo said it in one big burst of breath and Anna gasped, pressing a hand over her mouth.

“That’s sweet and all,” Gabriel said calmly, now perched on the rock and grinning at them. “But I _am_ still here, so maybe you could cut it short.”

“Of course,” Anna said, pulling back from Jo reluctantly. “Why . . . why are you here? Not that I’m unhappy, of course, oh, Castiel will be so glad to see you—wait right here, I’ll get him, he’s missed you too.”

Jo grabbed her arm, stopping her. “There’s—there’s something more important right now.” She cleared her throat, and climbed carefully onto the rock next to Gabriel, keeping Anna’s fingers clutched in hers. “Anna—we found a way. There’s a way. It’s in my book.”

“A way?” Anna breathed, her heart pounding. “You mean—”

“Yeah,” Jo said, her eyes sparkling. “A way to make you human.”

 

Anna sat between Gabe and Jo on the rock and shivered with excitement as Jo read aloud from the book. Gabe looked tense, almost worried, but Anna dismissed it. It was hard to see your family again after so long. If Jo hadn’t been here with her news, Anna was sure she would have felt strange to see Gabriel again. As it was, she was just glad he was here.

She _had_ missed him, after all.

“There are a few ways known of turning a mermaid or merman into a human, though none are foolproof,” Jo read. “There is, most obviously, the use of magic. Witches and warlocks are known to experiment with forms of life like merpeople and werefolk, trying to change their forms. However, only a select few have perfected their spells to allow for success. Many of their subjects end up crippled or even dead. Witches in particular are known for their desire to trade—most do not perform one of these spells without expecting something in return.”

She looked over at Anna, who frowned.

“I don’t have anything to trade,” she said.

“There’s other ways,” Gabriel said quietly, looking out at the beach.

“But that was how you did it,” Anna said, “wasn’t it? You asked a witch. You asked Kali.”

“I brought her a rare kind of pearl, she needed it for divination.” Gabriel shrugs one shoulder helplessly. “But she _liked_ me, kid. That pearl? That was, like, a discount. For you it would be so much harder. It would probably take you years to collect all the stuff she wanted.”

“But I’m your sister,” Anna whispered. “And she—she’s here, isn’t she?”

“That wouldn’t matter to her. She wouldn’t gain from it, so it holds no interest for her to do it cheap.” He shrugs again, holding his hands out in front of him. “She—she likes me. We’ve been with each other a long time. But any affection for me doesn’t turn into affection for you. That’s how she works.” He pushed a hand through his hair. “She came to observe. She wants to watch as much of your change as she can. It’s something not many witches have seen.”

“Oh,” Anna said quietly, looking down. Jo took her hand and squeezed it.

“That’s not the only way,” she said gently. “Let’s keep reading.”

When Anna nodded, she continued.

“Due to the untrustworthy nature of many witches and warlocks, many merpeople turn to their own inherent magic to do the job. Their siren song, which many of them use to lure boats onto the rocks, can be used to change them. It’s an uncertain process, however, and hinges on many different factors. The most important factor, however, is the human.”

“Now you’re getting to the good part,” Gabe muttered.

“There must be a human. And there must be love. Without love, the spell is pointless. The mermaid sings, drawing the human into the water with her, and the spell works or doesn’t. However, not much is known about the process; the ones that have done it successfully don’t usually stick around to tell other merpeople how. All that is known commonly is that it is painful for both, but mostly for the mermaid, and the feeling of walking on knives doesn’t fade for a few days.”

Jo snapped the book shut.

“Well, that’s frustrating. And vague.”

“But we can do it,” Anna said. “I—I think we could.”

“Walking on knives?” Jo asked doubtfully. “Really? You would want that?”

“I would be with you,” Anna said. “And human. For that—for that I think I would cut my tail in half myself.”

A gentle silence followed her pronouncement. Eventually, Gabe sighed.

“Thought you’d say that,” he said. “You were always so freakin’ stubborn, kid.”

Anna bit her lip. “When—I mean, when should we do it? Can I say good-bye?”

“To Castiel, yes, leave anyone else out of it. And sunset or dawn are usually good times for magic. You can pick the time you want.”

“Gabe,” Jo said, and Anna looked between them. “You knew, all along?”

“Yeah,” Gabriel said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?:

Gabriel looked away, over towards the sun, hanging in the sky like a ball of fire; hazy yellow against blue. “You know why I left?”

“No,” Anna said. Jo shook her head.

“I thought it’d be funny,” he said. Anna froze. Jo felt it, and slid an arm around her waist.  “I thought it’d be a huge joke, to walk up behind Michael and have legs. So I did it.”

He turned to look at them, smiling sadly.

“It’s different with you. You want this because you want something big and brave and human that I never wanted. I still don’t have that.” He shrugged. “They’re good people, humans. Don’t get me wrong. And I’ve been among them for a hundred or so years. Kali did some kinda spell. But I’m not one of them. I don’t want to be. But you . . . Anna, you were _meant_ to be.”

“I thought you wanted it too,” Anna whispered. “Am I really the only one in the world?”

“No,” Gabriel said. Suddenly he looked different to her; looked like someone who could make mistakes and dozens of them, not like her brave infallible big brother. “But you’re the only one here.”

“Castiel,” Anna said wildly. “Not even Castiel?”

“You know part of me wishes I could come,” said a voice from behind her. Jo jumped again, but Anna just turned to look at him, the sea wet in her eyes.

“Then come,” she begged.

“You heard him, sister,” Castiel said, gently, his eyes sad. “There must be love. And I have no one who loves me, not as you do.”

She slid into the water and embraced him, holding him hard.

“Someday I’ll join you,” he said. “I’ll learn everything. I—there is so _much_ out there.”

“I know,” Anna whispered, the sea flowing freely from her closed eyes. “I know—I’ll help you. Come soon and we can learn it all together.”

“Someday,” he said, like a promise; never-ending. “Someday.”

Jo was looking at the beach, her face pale. “Oh, no.”

Gabriel had climbed back into his boat. “Oh, no, what?”

“My friends,” Jo said weakly. “They—they’re on the beach looking for me again.” She swallowed hard. “Benny’s got his boat.”

“You mean they’ll come looking,” Gabriel guessed, and Castiel’s face paled.

“Yes,” Jo said miserably. “Go, hurry, please.”

Castiel didn’t waste any time. “I’ll come back later,” he said, “when they’re gone—I have to go, I—”

“Go,” Anna said gently. “I’ll see you soon.”

He nodded and darted off.

“Well, the excuse of me helping you comb the beach is gone,” Jo said to Gabriel, trying to smile. “I guess we just have to make sure they don’t think I’m out here because I _like_ you or something.”

“I’m hurt,” Gabriel said playfully.

“I’ll just stay,” Anna said. “Then they won’t think that.”

“No, you can’t,” Jo said. “They aren’t—I don’t know what they’d think.”

“Do you trust them?”

Hesitantly, Jo nodded.

“Then I do as well,” Anna said firmly. “I’m staying. I’ll have to meet them sometime, after all.”

“No time like the present,” Gabriel agreed. His lips were twitching now, amused; the boat coming closer.

“Jo,” a man with a beard shouted, eyebrows raised, “what’cha doin’ out here?”

“I thought we were going out today,” the girl, the one Castiel had said had orange hair, said, sounding hurt. Jo slapped a hand to her forehead.

“Holy shit, I forgot,” she said. There was stress evident in her voice, and her friends seemed to notice. Her hand in Anna’s was cold and clammy. Anna squeezed it, trying to help.

“No big deal, we can still make it,” the orange-haired girl said. “C’mon, Sam and Dean are in the car.” The boat moved closer, hovering. “Swim over, you can dry off in the car on the way.”

“I can’t, Char, I’m sorry,” Jo said. “I’ve got—I’ve got something I have to do.”

“Who’s this?” The girl, Char, said, glancing over at Anna. Anna bit her lip and looked at Jo.

“What’s your name?” the man with the beard called to her, friendly. His voice sounded odd somehow, but nice. The way he spoke was different.

“Accent,” Gabriel murmured. “He’s from down South.”

“Oh,” Anna whispered back. The boat drew closer, and she realized how hard her heart was pounding, how dry her mouth was. She ducked under and let her gills work in the water for a moment, _one two three, one two three;_ calm, calm, calm. She broke the water’s surface again to find the boat closer enough to see her, and her shoulders shook in spite of herself.

“You can go,” Jo whispered, looking worried and terrified; worried about her and terrified about the situation.

“No, no, I’m staying—I trust you,” she breathed back, and Jo’s fingers relaxed a little; still firm but not so tight.

“Holy hell,” the man with the beard breathed, looking at her tail. Anna found her voice.

“It’s impolite to stare,” she said. Jo snickered.

“Is that what I think it is?” Char whispered, looking fascinated. “Are there _more_?”

 _“That_ is a _she,_ Charlie,” Jo snapped. “And there are more, but they’re happy where they are, and they don’t want people all up in their business, so if you could just _not—_ ”

Anna put a hand on her arm. Char looked horrified with herself.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry,” she said. “Really. I’m Charlie, this is Benny; who are you?”

“I’m Anna.”

“She was going to go—but we thought—we thought we should tell you,” Jo stammered. “Because—because she’s going to turn human, tonight. I have to help her.”

“She’s going to—wow.” Charlie shook her head. “Just, wow.”

Anna pulled herself up to sit on the rock, next to Jo. Benny whistled.

“Well, damn,” he said. “Guess the fair is outta the question for now.” He turned to look at her, fully. “How can we help you?”

“It can’t happen until sunset,” Anna said softly. “And Jo has to help me. You just have to keep people away. Gabriel said—”

But when she looked around for him, Gabriel was gone.

“Okay, never mind about him anyway,” Jo said, running a hand down her back reassuringly. She leaned into the warmth of it.

Charlie looked determined. “Are you sure there isn’t anything we can do?”

Jo looked at her. Anna took a deep breath and flicked her tail.

“No,” she said. “No, there’s nothing.”

 

* * *

 

Jo left with Benny and Charlie in their boat to go make some excuses.

She didn’t want to. But there was still her mom to worry about, and Anna, and where Anna would stay, and _everything—_

Anna gave her a lightning fast kiss on the cheek as a goodbye and dove into the water. She said she was going to go say goodbye to her favorite places.

Jo pressed her fingers over the spot on her cheek and held it there, her heart feeling too full. Charlie looked at her steadily, mouth happy around the edges, eyes still amazed.

“Wow,” she said finally. Jo nodded.

“That about covers it.”

“What are you gonna tell your mom?”

“Well,” Jo muttered, “I already gotta told her I want to be a cop. Inadvertently, but still.  _Oh yeah, and this is Anna, I’m pretty much in love with her_ shouldn't be too much of a surprise after that.”

“In love with her,” Charlie said, surprised. Benny looked over too, with raised eyebrows on his quiet face.

“Oh,” Jo said, feeling her cheeks go red. “Yeah. You, uh, have to be in love. For the spell to work. Her brother,” she added, “Cas, he wants to come. But he’s not in love with anyone, so he can’t.”

“That’s awful,” Charlie said, with real sympathy. “But back to you—you really are?”

Jo looked out at the murky water, skimming it with her eyes.

“Yeah,” she said. “I really am.”

 

“You’re fucking with me,” Dean said. “This is revenge for last night.”

“Nope, not fucking with you,” Jo said. “Cross my heart. I met a cute mermaid and I’m kinda in love with her and I’m gonna help her turn human.”

“You are so fucking with me.”

“She’s telling the truth,” Charlie said impatiently. “I met Anna. She’s nice. And gorgeous.”

“Never woulda believed it if I hadn’t seen it,” Benny said.

“She’s real, and I’m not fucking with you.”

“Okay,” Dean said, throwing up his hands. “Okay, _fine_ ; I’ll get the car.”

 

When she ran to the beach that night, Anna was hovering in the shallows, hidden behind some rocks. Gabriel was there, too, with Kali standing with him. He made a half-apologetic gesture at them. Kali was watching Anna in the water with intense eyes.

When she saw Jo, Anna swam forward.

“Castiel showed me a hiding place,” she explained, then retreated a little, looking worried. “He’s here—is that okay? There are more people than I thought.”

“Dean’s the only one with a car,” Jo explained. “Mostly we walk places, the town’s kinda small. But I figured you wouldn’t really be used to it yet, walking, I mean, so you’d want to drive.”

“Oh,” Anna said, looking overwhelmed. Jo reached out and took her hands.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s all gonna be fine.”

Anna took a deep breath, and Jo noticed tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Are you okay? Are you sure you wanna do this?”

Anna nodded hurriedly, wiping at her eyes. “I do, I do. I’m just—”

She laughed, a little hysterically.

“It’s just a lot, that’s all,” she whispered, and Jo nodded, understanding.

Castiel swam out jerkily from behind the rocks, coming close to the shore like Anna was, where Jo was crouching in the shallows to hold Anna’s hands.

“You will take care of her,” he said softly, “won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Jo said, aware of how overwhelmingly like a promise this all was, and how unafraid she was of it.

Cas glanced towards the shore, where Charlie was watching him, intrigued. His eyes skimmed the people watching, and his eyes settled on Dean, and a faint, soft smile appeared on his face.

“He comes and skips rocks at night sometimes,” he said. “I’ve seen him.”

“He does?” Jo asked, glancing back. Dean was staring at Anna and Cas’s tails with bewilderment.

“Yes,” Castiel said. “He does. What’s his name?”

“Dean,” Jo told him.

Castiel nodded, thoughtfully. “They should go,” he added. “Or they will hear the song and try to enter the water. This song is meant for you alone.”

“Oh, yes I forgot to tell you,” Anna said. “When I sing—I mean—it’s like—I don’t know what it’s like. But everyone who hears will follow.”

“Sing quietly,” Jo said, standing. “I’ll tell them to stay off the beach.”

But they had already heard, and were walking away. Charlie mouthed _good luck_ at her.

“Okay,” Jo said, her voice shaky with nerves, standing there on the beach with sand covering her legs and her shorts. “What now?”

“Now,” Anna said, “Now I sing.”

 

Hearing a mermaid sing was like nothing else on earth.

It was low, and gorgeous, and haunting—there were no words, at least not in language she could understand. Something about it was throaty, something else was warm, something else was cold; but it filled her up, somehow, but not with anything like love.

It filled her with purpose. With an _ache._

She slid into the water and followed the sound.

 

* * *

 

 _Please, Jo,_ Anna thought desperately. _Please._

 

* * *

 

When she reached the water, she walked in without a thought to breathing, and found she could swallow water like air. She could feel the ache in her chest, could see Anna in front of her, her hair wild and red around her face, her eyes murky green and lovely. Her mouth was open in song, the words and notes still pouring out—

Nothing was happening.

_There must be love._

Jo stepped closer, walking like the water was nothing except ground, and placed her hands on Anna’s face; let her heart swell with everything Anna made her feel. She wondered if water was palpable, if emotions and feelings could travel in it. She hoped so.

She couldn’t speak, the sound lost in the ocean, but she could think, and her heart pumped love into every inch of her body.

Anna’s eyes slid shut and her face pinched in an expression that had to be hurt.

_Very painful for both parties._

Jo felt aches beginning, deep in her bones; deep like the love, like the ocean. She tried to pour her thoughts into Anna, tried to ease her pain, not even thinking about her own, letting her mind run wild and rambly with every little thing she had, anything that might distract Anna from how she must be hurting.

_My daddy used to say I love you like the ocean is deep, I love you like the sun is yellow and smiling, I love you like the thunder is loud. I love you like something that will never change. I love you, I love you, I love you. You and me are going to walk out of this ocean on our own legs and you are going to come home with me and sleep in my bed and eat breakfast together and I will show you everything and I will teach you everything; I’ll teach you about constants, I’ll teach you how to love like the sky is blue, like everything is never-ending._

Anna screamed, sobbing, and held on to Jo’s shoulders with her hands. Jo felt the pain worsen, like a quick, throbbing pulse, when Anna stopped singing.

_Shhhh. Shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay._

Anna opened her mouth tremblingly and kept singing, and Jo could hear the love in it, and when she looked down she could see Anna’s tail splitting, fins shrinking, scales fading.

Tears were streaming down her face, and she kept singing, reaching up to thread her fingers into Jo’s hair, and Jo kept one hand on her face, and kissed her, hard and deep and warm; like a promise.

Anna pulled away and gasped in, and reached for her sides, which were smooth and pale and human—

 _No gills,_ she mouthed, in a panic.

Jo wrapped arms around her waist and pulled her to the surface.

Anna gasped in the air and pulled it in greedily and clung to her, shaking and crying, and Jo was crying too, and then they were both just sobbing like idiots, holding on, swimming to the beach.

Jo thought maybe she heard more distant singing, soft and mournful and deep—maybe Castiel, telling his sister goodbye.

 

* * *

 

Charlie came down first.

Anna had been staring, awed, at her newfound legs. They were smooth and pale; there was hair on them like the hair on her arms, but a little darker. She had _toes_ , with nails on them like on her fingers. She wiggled them in the sand.

It hurt. There was an unbearable stiffness and pain to moving, like her muscles didn’t know what to do.

She could bear it. It would fade.

“Here,” Charlie said, holding out a bundle of things. “Some clothes. I grabbed them from a store, like, two seconds ago.”

Shorts like Anna’s, made of rough, dark blue material, a white shirt with no sleeves and a lovely orange and gold pattern on the front. More clothes, too, like the clothing she’d seen people wear on the beach when it was very sunny. Jo helped her with them, told her the names of each one—bra, panties, tank top, shorts.

“Thanks, Char,” Jo said.

“I was wrong,” Anna said, smiling. “I did need your help after all.”

Charlie grinned at her. “You ready to be human for the rest of your life?”

“Of course,” Anna said, beaming, leaning into Jo’s side. Jo squeezed around her waist.

“Wait,” she said, pulling away and running clumsily to the beach, picking something up from the ground. She winced, running back, and stumbled a couple times, her legs unwilling to work—but she did it.

Beaming, she looked first at Charlie, then at Jo. “Okay,” she said, glancing once back out at the ocean, and seeing a dark head and pale shoulders bobbing in the fading sunset. _Goodbye, brother._

“Okay,” she repeated, looking back at Jo. “Now I’m ready.” She showed them the sand dollar clutched in her fist. “Now I’m ready for anything.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Epilogue_

 

“Wow,” Anna said, perched on the edge of their bed, looking at Jo’s new badge. “Look at it, it’s so . . . official.”

“I’m a woman in uniform now,” Jo grinned. Anna laughed.

“Yes, you look beautiful, dear,” she teased. “I’m very proud. Whatever shall I do at home all day while you are out protecting the public?”

Jo snorted, wrapping her arms around Anna’s middle and pulling her down onto their bed. Anna shrieked playfully.

“Stop being a smart aleck,” Jo grumbled. “You’re talking to Jess too much.”

“Jess is very nice,” Anna protested. “I’m very happy for Sam. And Jess is going to be an excellent nurse someday.”

Jo pressed her face against Anna’s neck, and Anna sighed, carding her fingers through Jo’s hair.

“What _are_ you going to do?” Jo asked quietly. “No offense, but you kind of need a job. Charlie can forge a high school diploma for you. And you won’t be happy in here all day.”

“I was thinking about that,” Anna admitted. “And while I’d like to go to college, I know I can’t really handle that if I haven’t done regular school.”

“Yeah,” Jo nodded.

“So,” Anna said cheerfully, “I asked Mary Winchester if I could work in the bakery.”

“You’re going to make pies,” Jo said, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yes, if she wants me to.” Anna shrugged and sat up. “I like baking, and Mary is very kind. She said yes right away. And I’ll have time to write, too, if I want.”

Jo grinned, and sat up too. “You’re gonna write more?”

“I like it,” she said. “I’m remembering things more and more, about everything before I was a mermaid. About sneaking onto the ship and dressing as a boy—and words are the easiest things to learn. I think I could write stories.”

“Maybe you could work for the newspaper in town,” Jo teased. “You’ve got a big mouth. You could yell about stuff in articles.”

Anna pinched her. “I do not have a big mouth.”

“You have a gorgeous mouth,” Jo said. “You have gorgeous everything.”

Anna smiled. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Jo rolled over and pulled her into a kiss, and Anna melted into it happily, sliding her hands up to trace Jo’s stomach under her shirt.

“Love you,” Jo hummed, moving to kiss Anna’s collarbone.

“Like the ocean is deep,” Anna mumbled back, and Jo laughed.

 


End file.
